When my head and ears stop up, I have wild vertigo. Yesterday, while helping a client, I just toppled over to the side. It’s pretty funny to watch, and actually pretty funny to experience, but I am looking forward to when the walls stay in one place again!
While you are out there in the world today, being bombarded by images and ideas that tell you that you aren’t thin enough, pretty enough, smart enough (maybe we need more of those?), rich enough, successful enough, well-dressed enough, keep this in mind: When your family writes your eulogy, they probably won’t be focused on thin, pretty, rich, or well-dressed. They will be focused on how much you loved them, how much you gave of yourself, and how you made them feel.
Focus on that. Your day will be better =)
My coworker/friend and I were comiserating over how exhausting it is to be a mom and work full-time outside the home, and how we struggle to find time to cram everything that has to get done into the nooks and crannies of the day. Like how, this morning, I put my makeup on and fixed my hair during the oven pre-heating process and first 10 minutes of baking of Thor’s lunch (fish sticks…mmm!), then spent the last 10 minutes of baking, cleaning the kitchen and getting breakfast into him.
A few minutes later, my friend calls out to me, “Hey! Gwen Stefani has the same problem we do!”
“What’s that?” I asked. Because I know Gwen Stefani is not struggling with trying find pants that fit nicely, or worrying about having to buy pantyhose for a corporate event.
“She has a hard time fitting in everything she needs to get done in a day–trying to balance work and motherhood.”
I burst out laughing because…nannies, housekeepers, personal assistants, and probably personal chefs. And a husband who also has personal assistants. Do you know how much more I could get done with a full-time housekeeper? Because while my beloved (and oh, they are my Precious) Molly Maids* do a fantastic job of cleaning up what I have missed once a month, do you know how much time it would free up if I didn’t have to think about doing dishes?
But it’s relative. I’m sure Gwennie (who is one of my favorite celebrities, and who is allowed to call me Laney) really does feel the struggle. Her struggles are just different from mine. Whereas my time away from Thor equals three apples per hour, her time away from her kids equals three thousand apples per hour. But at the end of the day, no matter how many apples we have, we both just have 24 hours, and we’re both just trying to make time for our families, while staying on top of everything else that is expected of us.
Which is why, when my alarm went off at 5:45 this morning, instead of getting up and getting going, I went and got Thor out of his bed. I brought him back into mine and gave him snuggles until 6:35. Yes, my hair isn’t gorgeous today, and he’s had more inspired lunches, but he got a nice chunk of time knowing he was loved, wanted, and thought of. I’ll take his smile over great hair any day.
*Hiring Molly Maids is the best thing I have ever done for myself and my family. They are reasonably priced and do a great job. Consider it!
I owe you two posts: One about my friend Chey’s gorgeous jewelry, and one about 10 Girls to Watch. I will get those to you! In the meantime:
I told you a funny story involving a half-dressed man at my desk, so now I will tell you a story that I keep hoping will become funny in retrospect, but still hasn’t. Some of you will have heard the story before.
I was working for a company, and had a superior who was inappropriate about 60% of the time. If he wasn’t being outright inappropriate, he was serving up the innuendo. I was at about a 50/40/10 split of trying to deflect with humor, or saying some version of, “You are making me uncomfortable,” or just pretending not to have heard/understood what I had heard.
There came a day when this superior grabbed me in a headlock and ground his pelvis into my backside. He ground himself so hard against me, that I could feel his junk. I struggled and howled, and he thought this was funny, and he held me tighter and ground harder. When I did wrench myself free, he was laughing and telling me to calm down, and I was doing nothing of the sort.
I walked away to compose myself, and when I got back into my area (which was full of people for a staff event being held at that time), I tried to keep away from him. He was having none of that, and kept forcing himself next to me.
I went home, told B what had happened, and didn’t go back. Then came the process of having to explain to people of varying importance why I wasn’t going back, and being informally deposed by men, in a roomful of men, a group of which kept insisting that a) it had been a poorly delivered joke, but a joke nonetheless, b) that I had misunderstood the intent, and c) that I must have imagined part of it because that superior would never, ever do anything untoward.
My short answer was repeatedly, “I don’t think I could misunderstand his penis grinding against my buttocks.”
Having someone–someone who directly controlled my finances–assault me was one thing. Having to sit and be told that this person thought it was just a joke to assault me, and having to sit and be told that I had imagined being in a headlock while someone ground his pelvis into my backside was something else entirely. And having to do it with only men in the room–men who (save for the one who was representing me) had the best interest of the company and the company’s bottom line at heart–was like having my face rubbed in a big, hairy, corporate crotch.
I hate confrontation, but I’m no wilting plant when it comes to standing up for myself. Ask any HR department…ha! I also had two or three things on my side that meant I had legs to stand on, should my chair be kicked out from under me–one of those things being a husband who had a good job. I worry for women who are less able to confront, who don’t have the luxury of the Father-in-Law I have, and who aren’t married to spouses who can make ends meet until they find another job. I worry for women who are truly at the whim of the smegma who think it is funny to sexually harass their underlings.
I worry.
Now, though, to cleanse the palate, I will leave you with a list of things that have become funny in retrospect–actually, these things were pretty funny when they happened. Funny=not threatening, by the way. As long as it isn’t threatening, it can be funny.
The Outside Lane 